


The Legend of Homestuck

by Miki_and_company



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Humor, metafic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miki_and_company/pseuds/Miki_and_company
Summary: It was fabled that they only existed in legends...but it was no myth. The Homestucks were real, and the few which had survived lived with a feeble hope of one day seeing thep prophecy come to fruitition...





	The Legend of Homestuck

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote that text ages ago, but today is the last day I can still post it.

The two children thought themselves well-hidden behind their rock, observing the strange old woman they had stumbled upon as they were walking through the forest. She seemed barely human, yet could not be a beast. Her skin was grey and her glare an unnatural yellow, her hands were clawed and everything about her screamed to stay away, perhaps most especially her devilish, yellow and orange horns. Yet, the two children having gaped upon her, could not look away. She was doing things that could seem normal for an old woman in the forest, mumbling songs under her breath and picking up nice-looking flowers. She did not seem to notice the youngsters. After a while, they elected to go, not daring to approach her.

As they left, the woman stopped in her track.

“Going already? I thought you would be more curious than that.”

The children froze and looked at each other, terrified and confused.

The woman turned to them.

“Oh, do not fret. I don’t bite. I sure used to, when I was younger, but there is no point in it anymore. Look at how frail I am.”

The younger kid pulled at their elder’s sleeve.

“She is a witch! I don’t trust her! Let’s go!” they whispered.

The hag shook her head.

“Nay, I am no witch, I am a Homestuck.”

The kids looked at each other. The younger said,

“I don’t know what that is.”

The elder said,

“I’ve heard of them, but I didn’t think they really existed. Or, at the very least, that they still existed.”

The woman laughed loud and clear, flashing her tattered and yellowed fangs.

“Oh, we still exist all right. We are not what we use to be, that is for sure, but our legacy stays. The legend of Homestuck is alive and well, do you care to hear it?”

“I don’t know…” the younger said.

The older bit their lip. They had been warned of the danger it was to thread this path, but the curiosity devoured the young soul. They wanted to refuse once again, to close their eyes, run, and forget this encounter. But instead, they nodded. The younger one looked up in dismay.

The old woman flashed a sinister grin.

“Follow me,” she said.

They followed sheepily.

She began her tale as they walked.

“Long ago, there was nothing but a man. To the initiated, he is simply known as Hussie. Not much is known about him. Images of him are said to be so powerful they curse any mortal who gazes upon them. Before the great times, he attempted thrice to create. From these quests, he gathered a small but faithful following. These original believers are long gone, or so I personally believe. Some may have ascended to the realm of deity themselves. Records of these times are obscure.”

“So what did they do?”

The woman shrugged.

“Who knows what heroes are like before they become legend? All I know is that, eventually, Hussie began with their help his greatest work to date. It was the birth of Homestuck.”

“But what is Homestuck? Is it like a cult?”

The woman clicked her tongue, stopped abruptly for a moment, looked around for her path, then continued.

“When you say ‘cult’ you speak of it with your modern understanding of the word. Back then, it meant something completely different. It was first and foremost about people, not content. Homestuck was not the first nor the only to change that, but on its walls are written the History of this shift. Homestuck spans many definitions of what you would consider a ‘cult’. It was something grand, something no one had ever seen before. Something born from the web, that expanded beyond itself.”

“But _what_ is it?” the younger asked, exasperated, “and why do you look like that?”

“Great questions, little one, great questions. I could not answer them all the while being brief.”

She once again stopped in her tracks.

“Let’s start over, shall we? We said that fando—excuse me, _cults,_ in ye olden days were more about people than events. Well, the same can be said of Homestuck. It starts with people, a young man, to be precise, in his bedroom. And his friends, also in their bedrooms. Through this fascinating mean of technology, they become able to interact with each other, affect each other’s lives. They were unaware, back then, unaware of being part of something bigger than themselves. It dawned on them eventually, as they left their world behind and entered an entirely new realm: a magnificently different one, in which they were the heroes, could conjure up anything out of knowledge alone, one in which fate and free will merged to form a single, confusing thing. This power came with a burden, however: the burden to shape a new world for themselves before time could run out. They were ordinary folks, like the two of you, and they faced many challenges. The challenges of making choices before even being able to anticipate their consequences; the challenges of trying to know who they were, despite being faced with the image of who they were, who they could be, and who they should be; the challenges of meeting and exchanging with people so different, yet so similar, to themselves they had to question everything they knew about nature and nurture.”

“Wait,” the elder said, “Are you talking about the Legend of Homestuck, or about the real History?”

The woman looked at him cunningly.

“Does it make a difference? I am telling you what people like me stood for, what was the core to our belief in this cult. Some may have only superficially adopted it, bearing their horns with naivety, or even wrath, but it does not undermine the value of this myth. We gave Homestuck a bad name, and we must all carry it, we have no choice. Such is the burden of being part of a group. As for the cult itself, outside of our myth, it simply rapidly began to grow, as more and more adepts shared our ideals. Some see it as a golden age, others as the worse times, it was probably a bit of both. We lost control over ideologies, over our sense of unity, but that is the fate of all which is shared. Language, religions, there always comes a time or a point when the original meaning is gone, and the legend is fueled only by what people perceive it is. Never forget that, kids, never forget that what you construct out of essence was first made from existence; and that this existence might have been drastically different from what you are constructing yourself.”

“But your HORNS?” the younger kid started to get exasperated.

“Oh, these things,” the woman said. “They came with the rest. These features you see in me are the mark of our people, how we recognize ourselves, that is all. They were exciting things, once, but today they are mostly associated with shame. One cannot easily get rid of them, however. They can be hidden, but the Homestuck eye always recognizes a Homestuck.”

“How did the Homestuck disappear? Why have we never heard of them?” the elder asked.

“Our myth came to an end,” the woman sighed. “It reached the point where it had said everything it could say, or at least everything it could say that people would still understand and root for. Homestuck is not a myth anterior to its followers, but parallel to it. It seems in consequence madness to the newbie eye. It is no unreadable tale, but for the old it is too stigmatized, and for the young it asks for too much retrospective.”

“So, Homestuck is dead?”

The woman looked pensively towards the distance, obviously thinking about her answer.

She finally said something, her voice low and poised.

“It is dying, yes, but it may not be dead. It may never die. For once, its essence persists. In everything you see in this forest, there is Homestuck. Anyone you talk with may have one day been one of ours, even if they forsake it today. They have grown to become writers, artists, and many more who will carry the trace of this epic for generations. And there is also…”

“Also what?”

“Well, there is a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

The woman shook her head and took a brisker pace.

“This is all silly, few are those who still believe it. I don’t know if I should be telling you about it.”

“Please do!” the elder said.

The woman sighed.

“Long ago, during the golden age, there was a pledge made. In exchange for our devotion, Hussie made an oath. He promised to bring the tale we shared to the world, by making a talisman, an object translating the primitive and complex style of the story, only accessible to a chosen few, into a language more familiar to the uninitiated. He called this talisman Hiveswap. But before we could be rewarded with this great power, it vanished. Word is said that the Smith Hussie had designated to forge the talisman betrayed him, stealing the faith that once was. If this is true, then perhaps it is not unrelated to the fall of Homestuck: the power of Hussie was greatly lessened by this, and many forsook the man, disillusioned. However, it is becoming a new, valiant hope that Hussie had never abandoned us after all, only having attempted to regain his strength, and develop new skills to fulfill his oath: without the help of a Smith, and without his people’s faith. Should this talisman be successful, we could regain most of what we lost, and once again make history. But he needs to hurry. The few Homestucks left are quietly fading into the void without a new breath to fuel them. More and more potent are the voices saying that this is not merely dark times for us; but the end, the very real one. Some say that we should just give in, move on to something else, forget. True it is that threading the same thing for too long is bad; but renewal brings strength. Something which has not died in the fire can be reborn from its ashes, more potent and more powerful than ever before. For better or for worse. If one never believes in such a thing, then one is doomed to never have the strength to fend off those who do. Existence precedes essence: but essence is much stronger, for it brings existence for a specific purpose.”

“What?”

“Imagine anything which could serve as a table. That is a vague thing, because almost anything flat could serve as a table, without ever having been purposed to be one. But if someone understands that anything flat can serve as a table, then they can build something flat expressly to make it a table. Hence, the existence of table-like or table-equivalent objects precedes the essence of the table, but the essence of the table allows for it to be created without a constant process of trial and error, or without having to deal with whatever just _is_ by design of the universe.”

“What does this have to do with Homestuck?” the younger asked.

“Oh, a lot, nothing, everything. You should not ask coherence of me.”

“Where are we going?” the elder one asked, just having realized he was following a strange lady deep in the woods.

“I could tell you about Homestuck all you want, but it would not mean much, my dear. What is valuable about it, just like what is valuable about all great works, is that you can take away from it many things, almost whatever you want. It guides the clever mind towards answers without giving them. It trusts its readers, once again for better or for worse. Many horrible things, and many horrible people, have come from great works. Yet, we have no choice but entrust all people with them, or else accept that nothing will come out of nothing. So never judge a belief by its believers, or a game by its players. You’ll find yourself alienated from your own system of values. However, do not underestimate the ability of your subjectivity to fail you. You can become the player you have always dreaded to be, and it won’t be the game’s fault. Understood?”

“Uh…”

The woman shrugged.

“I figured.”

They then arrived in front of a ledge. With her frail limbs, she climbed surprisingly effortlessly, letting the kids behind her struggle their way up. Once their head could see beyond the ledge, they were faced with a very weird sight.

“What _is_ this?” the younger asked.

“That? That’s Homestuck,” the woman said casually.

It was a great temple, with grey walls covered in cracks and foliage, the madhouse architecture of it more nonsensical than a child’s drawing. The surface was covered alternatively in chiseled masterpieces, street graffiti and sharpie doodles. In the cracks, some light seemed to glow.

“ _That’s_ Homestuck?” the elder kid said, somewhat disappointed. “It looks like shit!”

“Well, yeah,” admitted the woman, “but it’s _legendary_ shit.”

The two kids looked skeptical.

“Look, the fact that it is shitty is undeniable, but it’s also integral to the _theme_ of the whole thing. If Homestuck wasn’t shitty, it wouldn’t be Homestuck, it would not have the message of Homestuck. If it wasn’t shitty, it wouldn’t be legendary. It’s a hard concept to grasp, that’s why we yearned for Hiveswap for so long, but it is what it is. I value it, you have the right not to. I did my job, I showed it to you, but that is all I can do.”

On these words, the woman walked away. However, instead of climbing down the ledge, she melted into air right in front of the two baffled kids.

“So, are we going in?” the elder asked.

“Have you never heard a cautionary tale in your whole life?” the younger answered.

“I have,” the elder said. “But I wonder.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” the younger shook his head.

“But knowledge brought it back,” the older said, as he ran towards the entrance door to the mysterious temple.


End file.
